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Jareth Volante - Details

STR

9 (-1)

DEX

14 (2)

CON

11 (0)

INT

13 (1)

WIS

8 (-1)

CHA

16 (3)

Acrobatics

2

Animal Handling

3

Arcana

1

Athletics

2

Deception

3

History

1

Insight

-1

Intimidation

3

Investigation

1

Medicine

1

Nature

1

Perception

-1

Performance

3

Persuasion

3

Religion

-1

Sleight of Hand

2

Stealth

2

Survival

-1

MAX HP

30

Speed

30 ft

Occupation

House Bard at The Crown and Scepter

Archetype (i.e. Class)

Bard

AC

11

Age

34

Species

Human

Gender

Male


Backstory

Jareth Volante is the resident entertainer at The Crown and Scepter in Ironhold's elite Dagger Hill district. To the patrons, he is a flamboyant raconteur, a man who claims to have walked the treacherous paths of Chichingia and stared down the horrors emerging from the Bukhara Spires. He wears a rotation of garish, bright velvet cloaks—his signature look—that swirl dramatically as he recounts tales of the Dragonbone Vanguard.

However, locals have noticed that Jareth never actually leaves the safety of the Hill. He arrived in Ironhold three years ago, flashing a hand-drawn map he claimed led to a lost treasury of the House of Silk, seeking investors for an expedition. He never departed. Instead, he settled into the "Cozy Chaos" of Madame V's establishment. He is the life of the party, his laughter untroubled and infectious, often encouraging the "Silver Only" clientele to indulge in another round of expensive wine. He acts as a gatekeeper of sorts; if you want to know the gossip of the merchant princes or get a meeting with Madame V, you go through the bard in the bright cloak first.


Description

Jareth is a man of fading handsomeness, possessing a sharp jawline that is slowly softening due to an excess of wine and rich food. He has restless, pale blue eyes that dart around the room even when he is smiling. He is instantly recognizable by his attire: he layers multiple brightly colored, mismatched cloaks over a stained poet's shirt, creating a silhouette that looks like a fantastical bird puffing its chest. His fingers are calloused from the lute, but his palms are perpetually clammy. He often clutches a rolled-up tube of parchment at his belt as if it were a sword hilt.
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